As Daylight Dies
by Aquamarine Shadows
Summary: Simmons is sent to a different base by orders of command. He starts to miss his days in desolate Blood Gulch, and more specifically, the time he spent with a certain orange-clad soldier. Red vs Blue fic. Grif/Simmons yaoi. Rated for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Red vs Blue. The amazing geniuses at Rooster Teeth do.

**Pairing**: Simmons/Grif

**Warnings**: Just the usual RvB swearing and fluffish yaoi.

**Summary**: Simmons is sent to a different base by orders of command. He starts to miss his days in desolate Blood Gulch, and more specifically, the time he spent with a certain orange-clad soldier.

**A/N**: Listening to my iPod caused another spark of insanity in my restless mind late at night. I tried not to make things terribly OOC. This is my first Grif/Simmons fanfic and the first yaoi fic I've ever written. It was strangely inspired by the songs Everytime by Britney Spears and I Had a Good Time by Boston. I don't know how long it will be in total. Two or three chapters at the least.

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Simmons' POV

0o0o0o0

The smell of mud and munitions clogged the air. The sounds of gunfire and explosions were muffled by pouring rain. Soldiers' pleas for mercy went unheard as they were murdered one by one. We slowly made our way into the Blue base, taking out any guards protecting the fort. Both the Red and Blue soldiers were worn out from days of incessant fire, but we managed to pull ahead during the last few hours of battle. Fatalities were well into the hundreds on both sides.

I turned a sharp corner inside the Blue base and leaned against the concrete wall to catch my breath. I swept my eyes over my surroundings. I heard my commanding officer bark orders from a nearby passage and continued on my way, searching for any remaining Blue refugees. A stifled groan could be heard further down the dark corridor, so I reloaded my M16 and headed in the direction of the sound. I found a wounded Blue hiding in the darkness, clutching his side for dear life. The blood flow was far too great for a chance of survival.

'Might as well put him out of his misery. It's not like he's gonna live either way,' I thought and fired several rounds at the dying Blue. Blood splattered on the floor and walls. The maroon color of my armor camouflaged the blood for the most part. I tried to wipe the blood off of my visor, only causing it to smear.

The sounds of gunfire in the base began to die away, as only a few of the enemy remained. It was unlikely they would cause problems for us anytime soon, so we returned to the comfort of the Red base for the first time in days to recover while we had the chance.

As soon as there were no signs of any Blues on guard, I moved to the roof of our base and removed the top half of my Spartan armor. I set it aside to let the heavy rain wash away some of the blood before looking up at the sky, allowing my upper body to be drenched. The cool rain stung my face, but it was somewhat refreshing. After a half hour of relaxing in the downpour, I returned to my assigned living space and removed the rest of my armor and my soaked body suit.

I dried off the metal plating on my limbs and joints. I preferred to avoid parts of my body rusting if at all possible. I studied my cyborg arm very closely, cursing Sarge and his mechanical skills. At the same time, I was grateful that I was able to aid him in saving a fellow soldier's life and grateful to Sarge for making it so that both of us were able to function normally again. Well, at least _one_ of us was able to function normally.

I took out a can of WD-40 and sprayed my left hand generously with it. I then put the can away and flopped down on my bed.

"You'd better still be in one piece, Grif... What am I saying? Nothing ever happens in Blood Gulch," I muttered to myself. "He's such a fucking moron."

I considered Grif and the others to be very lucky. It had been two years since I was reassigned to the Longshore base. Compared to life in Blood Gulch, Longshore was a living hell. I mean, it was actual war, not just the occasional shooting back and forth. I didn't mind the actual fighting, but we would go days on end without rest. I was getting really sick of it. As much as I hated to admit it, I really missed being stationed at outpost number one with Grif and the others. I previously sent in a transfer request to Red command, but I suspected that until the Blues showed further signs of total defeat at Longshore, my request would not be approved. It had already been six months since I sent it in.

That night I tossed and turned in my bed, my body aching where my organic parts met with my mechanical ones. I dreamed of the barren land in Blood Gulch and the familiar faces of my old team. Donut was as feminine as ever, Sarge still didn't make very much sense, Lopez still hadn't learned English, and Grif... Grif was still my dumbass teammate. I still remembered the base like the back of my hand. Well, like the back of my _real_ hand, anyway.

_Grif lay on the roof of Red Base in his boxers and undershirt. His dark brown hair hung over his eyes and shined in the moonlight. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the sky._

_ He sighed. "God damn you, Simmons. Why'd you have to go like that? You're even more annoying when you're not here, stupid cockbite." _

_ Suddenly the dream took a turn for the worse. A troop of Blue soldiers, much like those I had been fighting during my time at Longshore, snuck around the back of the base. They went unnoticed by Grif, and I assumed neither Sarge nor Donut were aware of what was about to happen. I looked from Grif to the Blues and back at Grif again. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him what was happening, but I could only stand by and watch the dream before me. When I turned around again, I saw a Blue stealthily making his way to the roof._

_ "Move, Grif! You have to move!" I tried to say, but the words wouldn't come out. 'Damn it! Move __**now**__, Grif!' I thought. He finally stood up as I had so desperately hoped he would, but he drew up short when he heard the click of the enemy loading his shotgun. Grif slowly turned his head and groaned._

_ "Fuck..."_

_ The Blue prodded his back with the shotgun. "Show me where your supplies are! Now!"_

_ "What if I don't wanna?"_

_ "Just do it, scumbag. Or else," the soldier threatened._

_ "Oh, suck it, Blue!" Grif scowled at the man, only to be roughly pinned to the ground._

_ "You wanna say that again?"_

_ "I __**said**__, SUCK IT BLUE!"_

_ The Blue looked at him mercilessly and stood up. He stomped on Grif's back to hold him down and put his finger on the trigger of the shotgun. "This'll teach you," he said menacingly._

_ The Blue squeezed the trigger of the shotgun, and I watched in terror as he fired several rounds at Grif. Every action thereafter was painfully slow. Grif cried out my name as he grasped at the air in front of him. I stood before Grif, covered in his blood. It was only then I realized I had been the one holding the gun. I wiped the blood off my visor in the same way I did after I killed the injured Blue at Longshore._

_ "Why, Simmons?" were the last words out of Grif's mouth. I turned and walked away unphased by anything "I" had just done._

I shot up in my bed, covered in sweat. My hair was still wet from sitting out in the rain. My head throbbed, and the rest of my body still ached.

"Look what you've done to me, Grif."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own RvB. Again, this fic is rated M for the language.

0o0o0

Grif's POV

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I'm telling you, doing nothing has never been easy, especially after Simmons was transferred to Longshore. After he left, Sarge was really irritable. His experiments were more frequent, most of which included new ways to kill me. Once I found him in the simulation room trying out the new turret on the warthog on several simulated versions of me. I thought Blood Gulch was bad before, but after Simmons was gone, I was stuck doing all the work that he did.

I sat behind a massive rock in the middle of the canyon, even though it was clearly labeled "Tucker's rock. Keep out." I figured that was the last place Sarge would look for me, but for the most part I really didn't feel like trying to find a better hiding place. I took my orange helmet off, threw it aside, and ruffled up my matted, brown hair.

"I swear I'm going to kill you next chance I get, Simmons," I said with a sigh. When I actually thought about it, I realized it probably wasn't necessary. Longshore was and still is an active war zone, nothing like Blood Gulch. I started to fall asleep against the tan, spray painted boulder, but the moment I closed my eyes my own helmet was thrown at my face.

"Grif! If you're gonna be miserable, you could at least be miserable and dying!" Sarge said and nudged me with his boot. "_Now,_ I want you to take this crate of equipment to the storage building. Lopez is still working on the new turret for the warthog."

"What about Donut?" I whined and rubbed the sore spot on my forehead.

"Pretty in Pink is working on cleaning up the base. Something about the natural light being outta whack and the cake needs to be decorated," Sarge said.

"Cake? What's he plan on using to make it? Worcester sauce?" I gagged at the memory of the last time he made cookies and used mustard in place of water.

"Don't be stupid, Grif. We ran out of Worcester sauce last month."

"Whatever," I grumbled and shoved my helmet back on my head before hauling the metal crate back to the base. 'What the fuck is the cake for anyway? Maybe Donut finally admitted he's a woman,' I thought as I opened the rusted door of the storage shed. I shot the padlock fastening the lid to the crate in attempt to spare myself the effort of finding a key. I let the assortment of assault rifles and ammo fall onto the floor. I didn't dare bother to clean up the mess. Just thinking about manual labor gives me a migraine.

When I got back to Red base, Donut was prancing around the so-called kitchen in a hot pink apron with a Gingerbread Man smack dab in the center. Sarge sat at his desk with a seven inch tall action figure of a bright yellow Spartan. I heard him muttering something about a useless bitch-boy and wondered how long he had been playing with the doll. A similar maroon action figure sat on the edge of the desk facing Sarge next to the tools he had been using to make strange adjustments to the yellow figure.

"Would ya look at that, Simmons! That pussy, Grif, needs an amputation. Let's just cut off the head..." he said to the maroon figure as he used a pair of pliers to rip the toy's head off.

'Just walk away, Dex. Back away slowly from the delirious idiot and go back to your room,' I told myself. Sure, it made me mad. I mean, he wasn't even using the right color of armor on "mini-me." There is no use fighting a battle that you will never win, so I snuck past Donut, who was merrily mixing a bowl of fowl smelling goop, and returned to my room. Actually, it wasn't even my room. I moved into Simmon's old room after he left 'cause I nearly broke my neck over a pile of garbage.

I took my helmet off and let my armor fall to the ground with a thunk. I unzipped my black body suit and put on a dirty pair of jeans and a white undershirt. I sat on the bed, studying a shiny piece of metal on the short, white wardrobe next to the bed. At first I thought it was a screw for his arm or something, but then I noticed it was an extra dog tag. I traced my thumb around the edge of the military tag, thinking about all the ways I could destroy it to relieve some frustration. I eventually came to the decision that burning it would take the least effort, but I wouldn't bring myself to do it. I thought it was just because I was lazy, but in a way it felt wrong to even think about hurting it. I let myself fall back on the mattress, throwing the dog tag aside and letting out a muffled groan.

"I'll just sleep. Donut... food... Simmons, you cockbite..." I unintelligibly mumbled to the empty room and shut my tired eyes.

.

"GRIF! Wake up!" someone yelled in my ear. I rolled onto my stomach and put a pillow over my head.

"Go away," I groaned. The stranger in my room pulled the window shades up, letting a massive amount of sunlight into the dark room. "Urgh, put it back, you fucker...!"

That's one more thing I hate about Blood Gulch -the fact that neither the time of day nor the weather ever change. Ever.

Anyway, whoever the asshole was that decided to come annoy me ripped the pillow off my head yanked me away from the bed. I pushed my dark brown hair out of my eyes and glared at my harasser from the ground. Simmons towered over me. He held his helmet in one hand, the other resting on his hip.

"What the hell are you doing in my room, fuckface?" he demanded.

"YOUR room? You don't even stay in here anymore! There was no reason I shouldn't move into it!"

"What if I came back?"

"_What if_? You know just as well as I do that the probability of you coming back was a snowball's chance in hell, Simmons."

"Fuck you," he said and threw a bolt at me before treading out of the room. (Whichever arm hinge he pulled that out of was beyond me.)

"No thank you!" I called after him.

"That wasn't an invitation, asshole!"

I let out an exhausted sigh, put my armor back on, and picked up my helmet. "Would you relax already, Simmons?" I said as I followed him to the living room. He sat on the couch and played with a loose bolt in his left hand. He stayed quiet for a long time, just staring at the bolt with a scowl on his face.

"Come on, Simmons! Quit acting like such a... a... girl!" I said.

"Remind me again why I bothered coming back to Blood Gulch? It's not like you guys need me," he snapped and narrowed his eyes at me before turning around and heading toward the door. I rolled my eyes and pinned him to the wall.

"Look, you better stop your griping and whining, or else I'm gonna knock you into next week. No one said they didn't want you here, so shut up and go back to your room!" I threatened.

"You did not just send me to my room."

0o0o0

Thanks for the couple of reviews I got on the last chapter! I promise the next chapter will be written much better and will be from Simmon's POV from here on out, except for like one chapter just to show Grif's thoughts. Still wanting to keep it around 5-7 chapters. Please continue to be patient with me, and much thanks to my beta, pip08 for proofreading all of my work. :)

Much love to my reviewers,

~Kai (After the amount of Chi Omega signs I keep seeing on campus, I'm tempted to start signing my work as X)


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Red vs. Blue, Blood Gulch, or any of that stuff. Bungie and Roosterteeth do! ^.^ Also, May the Fourth be with you.

* * *

** Grif's POV**

A week after Simmons moved back to Blood Gulch, I began to remember why I'd wished he was gone in the first place, before he transferred. The mysterious cake that Donut baked for his welcome back party was the only good thing about the entire ordeal, even though he'd made it with soy sauce. Private Kiss Ass returned to his old self within moments of being lectured by Sarge about abandoning his duty as one of few red soldiers in Blood Gulch and second-in-command of the "Slowly Kill Grif and Destroy Everything He's Ever Loved" initiative.

I walked away from the welcome party after Sarge started to give a "toast" to Simmons' return, which generally turned out to be a monologue about himself and how he was so proud of himself for training such a good subordinate. I have never understood how he always has the Red Flag flying behind him during his long speeches, or who the hell sang "Glory, Glory to the Red Team" as he rambled on.

Later that day, I was interrupted from a very peaceful sleep during my "night" watch by a blunt object hitting my head. My helmet prevented a good bit of damage, but it still hurt. I picked up the maroon helmet that had landed next to where I sat and took off my own helmet to rub the back of my head. "What the hell was that for, asshole?!" I said to Simmons without even facing him.

"For leaving in the middle of my welcome back party and not to mention taking over my fucking room while I was gone. I just spent the last few hours disinfecting every piece of my furniture thanks to you, you sloppy son of a bitch."

"Bite me."

"Noooo thank you."

"Not an invitation."

"I really hate you."

"The feeling's mutual," I said and shoved his helmet into his chest. I probably wouldn't have done it if I'd seen sooner that he was just wearing a white t-shirt and shorts, not his armor. The metal from the shoulder plate covering the junction between his skin and his robotic arm clanked with the helmet.

"If you're just going to sleep while you're on watch, why don't you just come inside already?" he said.

He had a valid point, though I couldn't say I was thrilled about sleeping on the floor in the main room of the base again. Since Simmons had moved out, Donut had taken over my room to store his interior decorating and cookbooks. At the time, he'd been using my bed for holding mountains of fabrics in a variety of colors, so I gave up on trying to use the room until he found another place for his junk. I took my armor off and left it in the little corner of my room that still belonged to me, then grabbed a sleeping bag and went into the main room to lay down. I was grateful for the light controls in the base since we never, you know, actually had night. The "night" program on the base's main computer made a really nice night filter for each of the windows. I fell asleep easily, as always, but I had another rude awakening when I was kicked by someone in the dark, causing them to trip over and land on me.

"Oomph!"

"Grif? Is that you?! Jesus, why are you laying in the middle of the floor?" Simmons felt around for my face with his metal hand, to see if it really was me.

"Hey! What the hell are you feeling me up for?!" He retracted his hand immediately, and I hoped that he hadn't noticed what he was grabbing at was my crotch.

"Oh. Uh. I'm sorry," he stammered and quickly scrambled away from me. "But seriously, you shouldn't be laying in the middle of the damn floor like that!"

"At least if we have intruders, it's an easy trap for them to trip over me."

"Yeah, that's exactly how you should think about it... Just get the fuck off the floor and sleep somewhere else."

"Damn it, stop bossing me around." I glared at him angrily in the dark. Well, I glared at the place where I assumed he was standing. Not that it made a difference to either of us. I was just really grouchy from being woken up twice in one night and bossed around. "Just let me sleep."

"Come on, you idiot. You can sleep in my room." He grabbed me by the arms and jerked me up into standing position. I wished that he would have just left me alone instead of messing around in the dark like that because as soon as he pulled me off the ground, he rammed my face into his chest.

"Ouch! Watch what you're doing, you bastard!" I felt a small drop of blood drip down my face —I had cut my cheek on a loose screw on the plate covering Simmons' shoulder. He quickly apologized and ran to get wet paper towel and a band-aid. I followed him into the bathroom where he cleaned up the cut on my cheek. It was unlike Simmons to be so... so caring.

After he finished doctoring me up, he led me to his room and let me sleep on his bed. I quickly fell asleep again, while he slept on the floor next to the bed in the sleeping bag I'd been using for the past week. I dreamed of a quiet, isolated valley in the middle of nowhere, where there was no Red Team or no Blue Team. There was no Sarge or Donut, and there was certainly no Simmons. Though in reality I would be thrilled to be able to nap in a quiet place with no one around, I kept looking for Simmons in the dream. My dream self became distressed when I couldn't find a single trace of him, possibly reflecting how I sometimes felt when I slept in my teammate's bed while he was in Longshore. I wasn't sure at what point I woke up to hear the pitter-patter of rain on the window of the room, but I must have been half asleep as I watched the strange change in weather out the window. I wasn't aware that I was muttering "Simmons, where are you?" until he shook me.

"Were you dreaming?" he asked.

"Yes," I said groggily.

"Ah, well... I guess I'll just go back to sleep."

"Wait." I grabbed his real bicep, though I wasn't entirely sure why. What the hell did I want? For him to cuddle with me?

"Yeah?"

I held his arm like that for a few seconds longer —much longer than I should have. It was more comforting to have him next to me than I thought it should have been. When I realized that I was just laying there with my hand on his bicep, I quickly let go. "Ah, sorry. I'm still out of it."

"Oh, okay."

"Good night, Simmons."

"Good night, Grif."


End file.
